The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



become so many pigeon-houses; he directed the get- 

 ting-in of the hay, the walnuts, the apples, and 

 the oats. We used to help him during the sum- 

 mer, when the school, which was well attended 

 in winter, was almost deserted. The few who re- 

 mained, because they were not yet big enough to 

 work in the fields, were small children, including 

 him who was one day to set down these memorable 

 facts. Lessons were less dull at that time of year. 

 They were often given on the hay or the straw; 

 oftener still, lesson-time was spent in cleaning out 

 the dovecot or stamping on the snails that had 

 sallied in rainy weather from their ramparts, the 

 tall box borders of the garden belonging to the 

 castle. 



Our master was a barber. With his light hand, 

 which was so clever at beautifying our copies with 

 curlicue birds, he shaved the notabilities of the 

 place: the mayor, the parish priest, the notary. 

 Our master was a bell-ringer. A wedding or a 

 christening interrupted the lessons; he had to ring 

 a peal. A gathering storm gave us a holiday: the 

 great bell must be tolled to ward off the lightning 

 and the hail. Our master was a choir-singer. 

 With his mighty voice he filled the church where 

 he led the Magnificat at vespers. Our master 

 wound up the village clock. This was his proudest 

 function. Giving a glance at the sun, to ascertain 

 the time more or less nearly, he would climb to 

 the top of the steeple, open a huge cage of rafters, 

 and find himself in a maze of wheels and springs 

 whereof the secret was known to him alone. 

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